


A Million Pieces (strewn out across the ground)

by serenadreams



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Bodyguard AU, F/M, Role Reversal, but not really because that would be super weird, it's more like felicity is thea and oliver is diggle, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-17 12:39:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5869930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenadreams/pseuds/serenadreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity is a billionaire heiress who knows that falling in love with her bodyguard is a terrible idea. She does it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. strange birds

**Author's Note:**

> So this au is all over the place tbh. Felicity is kind of like the version of Thea we saw in season 1; disillusioned with the world she lives in and struggling to find her purpose. And Oliver hasn't suffered as much as he has in canon, so he's a little lighter than we're used to. There's a ten year age difference between them, but Felicity is 100% legal, no underage grossness here! 
> 
> There'll be mentions of recreational drug use, but it's not glamorized in any way. Felicity doesn't have an actual problem, like she does in Tell Me You Care, it's just a side effect of her current lifestyle. Still take precautions in regards to trigger warnings! 
> 
> And as far as I know, we have no name for Felicity's father yet. So I named him Richard because he's a dick. 
> 
> Also this was written super quickly... So please forgive the vaguely clunky writing and random transitions. It's a story that popped into my head out of nowhere, and was written while I was sick in bed on some rather strong cold medicine! So it's probably terrible.
> 
> Title from No Angel by Birdy  
> Chapter lyrics from Strange Birds by Birdy.

_Unlike most you don’t miss a thing,_  
_You see the truth,_  
_I walk the halls invisibly,_  
_I climb the walls, no one sees me,_  
_No one but you._

 

Felicity hates him at first. Well, she thinks he’s beautiful. So utterly handsome that it almost hurts to look directly at him. But she still hates him. She hates a lot of things these days. Her family name for getting her into this mess, her father for never bothering to so much as look at her, her mother for drowning her sorrows at the bottom of a bottle. Herself for losing who she was meant to be.

Standing in her father’s office staring at the man who’s about to become her shadow, she’s reminded of all the reasons her life has become something she so dislikes. Richard barely looks at her. He was always a cold man, never the sort of father who made her feel safe or loved, but in the past few years he’s gone from distant to barely acknowledging her existence. Except in cases like this. When there’s something he wants from her, or something he wants her to do.

He controls his household with an iron fist, an issue that her mother stopped complaining about long ago. Too tired and sad to continue fighting him at every turn.

No one tells her much about what’s going on in their family, everything she learns comes from overheard conversations or in an ironic twist, the press. But she has heard rumors about the threats that have been made, angry ninety-nine percenters tired of the Smoak family acting like they can get away with anything. Felicity doesn’t blame them. She’s sick of it too. But as a result she’s not altogether surprised when Richard calls her into his study, to inform her that she’ll be accompanied everywhere she goes by an ex special forces bodyguard. She is surprised however, when her eyes drift from the harsh lines of her father’s face, to the man standing beside him.

She’s not sure what she expected, but it definitely wasn’t someone who looks like that. He’s tall and strong and everything she supposes it’s required that a bodyguard be. But he looks at her with blue eyes that dance with clarity and intelligence, a softness in them that throws her off guard.

And then a large hand, calloused and rough, is held out towards her, and she finds her heart picking up speed as she reaches to take it in her own. He holds it gently, like he’s slightly worried he’ll break her if he shakes too hard.

“Oliver Queen. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Smoak.”

He’s even more gorgeous up close. But it’s the sincerity and wisdom on his face that gives her pause. There are plenty of handsome men in her world, but most are callous or cruel, after her for her money or a fun night with Starling City’s princess. Few look like him, serious and strong, _trustworthy_.

It’s with that thought that she yanks her hand back, because men are never trustworthy. And just because his eyes are a ridiculous shade of blue, doesn’t mean she’s going to forget that anytime soon.

Richard clears his throat, and Felicity’s eyes quickly flick back to her father, her stomach sinking, as it always does, at the irritation clearly painted across his face.

“You can go.” He says brusquely, and she turns to leave without question.

She hates following orders, but she hates being around her father even more.

 

Oliver’s a pain in the ass. He’s stoic and professional and always right _there_. But he’s also a breath of fresh air. He doesn’t look at her like he wants something, like he has any ulterior motive. His job is to keep her safe, and if there’s one thing she’s sure of, it’s that he takes that more seriously than anything else.

Everyone wants something from Felicity Smoak. Whether it’s her parent’s money, the connections that come along with her name, or what’s under her clothes. People want something, but they don’t want her. They don’t want the girl she really is. They don’t care what she thinks about when she wakes up in the morning, or what her favorite movie was when she was a kid. No one cares about things like that. As far as she can remember, no one ever has.

She and Oliver don’t talk much in the beginning. He accompanies her everywhere, like a large, tense dog. Always on edge, always just a few paces behind. Sometimes their eyes will meet and her breath will hitch, as it did the first time he looked at her. Mostly however, she tries, and fails, to pretend he isn’t there. But she watches him sometimes, when she’s sure he won’t notice. She watches him and she wonders what he’s doing there. With her, in this big, horrible house. She wonders why anyone who didn’t have to be there would choose to stay.

Her life is the envy of Starling City. But to Felicity, it’s a nightmare.

She’s eighteen years old and she should be on the edge of her seat, bursting with excitement for everything that lies ahead. A whole future spread before her, just waiting to be explored. But she’s never felt more lost. More alone. She’s tired of life already, after living it for such a short time.

She lives in a world of cynics and philanderers, an emotionless wasteland, where people are either too cold or too dumb to notice how far she’s drifting.

But Oliver notices. On the night of one of the many Christmas galas that stretch throughout the holiday season, he gets his first real look at just how lost she really is.

There’s a line of powder on the edge of the sink, and she stares at it for seconds that quickly evolve into minutes. An aching sadness settling into her bones because she never wanted to be this person. She saw it all growing up. Socialites who’d been given everything and still managed to fall through the cracks, waste their years and their opportunities until people stopped giving them. She saw it, and she swore she’d do something better with her life. She’d do something she could be proud of.

But she’s become exactly who she didn’t want to be. A disillusioned girl who’s surrounded by people and has never been more lonely. A girl who could have everything, except the simple things she truly wants.

Her reflection looks back at her from the mirror, perfectly done up in a dress that feels like it belongs to someone else.

There’s a light tap on the bathroom door, and Felicity quickly brushes the powder away, blinking back the tears that are suddenly blurring her contacts, and counting to ten before opening the door.

Oliver’s standing on the other side, and as it always does, her stomach flutters at the sight of him. He gives her a tight smile, his eyes darting behind her, skipping across the bathroom as though searching for evidence of what she was just about to do. She steps out, pushing into his personal space until he’s forced to move back so she can close the door behind her.

“What is it, Oliver?” She asks wearily.

He regards her for a second before speaking, his eyes burning holes into her soul.

They’re not friends. They’re hardly even acquaintances. He’s been her bodyguard for two weeks and four days, and they haven’t even had a full conversation. Not that that’s unusual. No one in this house talks to her. Not really. Other than pleasantries here and there, no one actually _talks_.

“Your parents are waiting in the car.” He replies.

She nods and reaches for the clutch that’s lying on her bed, grabbing it and leaving the room without a word.

There’s a limo idling in the driveway, and she doesn’t bother to wait for the driver to get the door, climbing in and slamming it with a little more force than necessary. Her parents sit opposite her, as far away from each other as the seats allow.

Her father barely looks her way, but Donna babbles about how pretty she is, reaching across to pat her knee. The gesture hurts more than it comforts, because that’s all she gets from her mom these days. A quick word here, a glancing touch there.

She can hear the passenger door shut, and knows Oliver’s taken his seat in the front. And then the car is pulling down the drive, and Felicity leans her head against the window, blocking out the suffocating silence, imagining she’s somewhere else, somewhere better.

It’s something she does often. Picturing a different life, with her as a different person. Perhaps she’d be at college, live in a dorm like a regular girl and stress about midterms. Perhaps she’d fall in love, with a man who was sincere and kind. A man who loved her in every way possible. Perhaps she’d be happy.

 

The gala is in full swing by the time they get there, and Felicity pastes her fake smile into place. A necessity she taught herself long ago. Her parents disappear into the crowds, stopping to greet anyone they deem important enough, their arms linked in a show of unity that runs as deep as a puddle.

Felicity’s eyes seek out Oliver of their own accord. She’s found herself doing that more often than she’d care to admit since her father hired him. She’s not sure why, but the sight of him settles her somehow. At the very least, makes her feel safer. Which she supposes is sort of his job, but she didn’t expect his presence to have the effect that it has. He’s leaning against the back wall, away from the crowds, one of their other bodyguards standing beside him. They’re talking, smiling, and even with the glances they’re constantly throwing around the room and the tension in their postures, they look like they’re having a good time.

She wonders what that’s like. To have a purpose, a job you enjoy and a friend to tell about it.

A waiter brushes past and she snags a glass of champagne from his tray, knocking it back so quickly the bubbles sting her tongue. A hand grabs her elbow, and she turns to see Sara and Helena, looking just as bored and antsy as she feels.

Helena is much like her in many ways, but not any that count. She’s Starling royalty, daughter of the third richest man in the city. They’ve known each other their whole lives, always moving in the same circles, but they’ve never truly been friends. Just passing acquaintances, thrust together because they’re roughly the same age and the world considers them of the same social standing. She gets on better with Sara, but it’s hardly anything real. She’s a socialite, always up for a good time, always ready to break the rules. They’re not her friends. But they’re the closest thing she has. And perhaps that’s the saddest part of all.

“Want to make this party interesting?” Sara asks, raising an eyebrow in a coy look that only she can pull off.

Felicity’s heart sinks because this is the way it goes for them these days. When they were children they’d spend the evenings following around the waiters to score extra food, or ranking the guests by prettiest dress. But now they sneak away and get high because they’re all as lost as each other, and it’s become the only way they can get through the nights.

They make their way into one of the lounges off the ballroom, closing the door behind them quickly so they’re not seen.

Helena pulls a small bag of vials out of her clutch and holds them up, waving them around like a carrot on a stick. Sara rolls her eyes and grabs it from her, taking a vial for herself before passing one to Felicity.

“What is it?” She asks as her fingers close around the glass,

“Something new.” Sara says flippantly, tipping her head back and pouring the liquid into her mouth. “It’s meant to be amazing.”

Felicity hates this side of her life. Hates the way she feels the next day, hates the respect she loses for herself every time she does it. But some days she’s sure she’s about to shatter into a million pieces. Like a wine glass smashed on a marble floor. She’s flying apart and it’s terrifying because she's not sure she wants to stop it. The drugs help. They make all her thoughts drift away, force her to just _live_ , to just be.

When she was a little girl, her mom used to say that her brain worked too fast. She’d talk a mile a minute, constantly fascinated by every single thing she saw. But as she got older, she was taught to speak when spoken too, to keep her answers short and simple. To not ask questions about things she shouldn’t, to represent her family in the best possible light at all times.

So she stopped babbling. She stopped waving her hands around when she spoke, she stopped being herself. But her thoughts still run away with her, bottled up inside her mind. Adding to the list of things she keeps hidden away from the rest of the world.

The evening drifts into night, and when the girls finally rejoin the ball, their eyes are dilated and glassy, and their hearts aren’t in quite so much pain.

Felicity dances with a few men around her age, and several much older, pretending not to notice the way their eyes linger on her chest, trying not to care when their hands dip a little too low on her back.

Eventually it becomes too much, and her feet feel like they’re trapped in blocks of cement when she stumbles away from the dance floor. She searches for Oliver, knowing he won’t be too far away.

As much as she’d resented their new arrangement when it had first been sprung on her, he’s become a comfort. She can’t explain it really, because it should feel like yet another noose around her neck, yet another aspect of her life that she has no control over. But it doesn't.

She gave him a hell of a time during his first week. Ducking out and evading him at every opportunity. But he always found her, and it never took him long. And when he did, he didn’t get angry, like she expected him too. He didn’t tell her father either. He simply watched her, those penetrating eyes of his assessing her like he was learning everything he needed to know, from just one look.

She finds him near the door, and the second she sees him, he glances up and meets her gaze.

Her head is starting to spin a little more than she’s comfortable with, so she gestures for him to come to her, the sea of people between them suddenly seeming far too hard to navigate on her own.

It takes him less than thirty seconds to reach her, his face as neutral as ever as he looks her over.

“I want to go now.” She mumbles, aware that her words are slurred and barely audible. But he understands.

His brows twitch into a frown so brief she almost misses it, but then his mask of professionalism is back and he nods, taking her elbow and leading her towards the doors. She’s vaguely aware of him saying something into his sleeve, but doesn’t focus on it, concentrating on getting her feet to move right. One forward, then the other, and repeat.

The fresh air outside clears her head a little and she realizes that at some point she’s leant against the broad expanse of Oliver’s shoulder, letting him take half her weight. She shifts away from him and glances up at his face. But he doesn't seem to mind.

That night is the start of a shift between them, the start of a tentative bond that grows stronger each day.

He takes her home, lets her sit upfront with him so she doesn’t get sick, even though it’s against protocol. He ushers her through the quiet house and sits her down on her bed, kneeling in front of her and forcing her to look at him while he asks what she took. It takes him a few tries before his words sink in and the next thing she knows, he’s making her drink something truly disgusting, and then holding her hair back as she empties her stomach into the toilet.

He earns her trust that night. Not enough to let her walls down, or place blind faith in him, but enough that she no longer feels the need to second-guess everything he says. He doesn’t tell anyone what happened. He doesn’t sell the story to the press, he doesn’t inform her parents, and most importantly, he doesn’t _leave_.

People always leave when things get too real. Too hard. But he doesn’t. He’s still there the next day, as silent and stoic as ever, but he’s there. And that’s more than she gets from most people.

 

They have their first real conversation a few days later, in the car on the way to a Smoak Consolidated press conference she’s being forced to attend. She’s watching him from her place on the back seat, the strength in his hands, even as they casually grip the wheel, the stubble across his jaw, the firm set of his mouth. And she finds herself wanting to know more about him. He’s so unlike everyone else she knows, and it fascinates her.

Leaning forward, she rests her arms against the back of the passenger seat so she can see him better.

“What’s your middle name?” She asks, delighting in the brief look of surprise that crosses his features. He glances at her quickly, before turning back to the road.

“Jonas.” He replies, and she hums, committing the name to memory.

“What’s yours?”

She smiles, because he knows her middle name. Everybody knows her middle name. But he’s asking because he wants to even the ground between them. It’s something no one’s ever really bothered to do before, and she likes the idea of being on equal ground with him.

“Megan.” She says softly.

“Felicity suits you better.” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips and her own widens in response.

“Well Oliver suits you better than Jonas.”

“I guess it’s a good thing they’re middle names then.” He smirks, and she almost laughs, already thinking of her next question.

“What’s your favorite food?”

His eyes meet hers in the rear-view mirror and there’s a hint of playfulness in them that makes the blue of his irises seem lighter. Her stomach flips and she finds herself grinning at him, raising her eyebrows in a silent request for him to answer.

“What is this, twenty questions?” He asks instead, and while it hadn’t been her plan before, she instantly jumps on the idea.

“Why not?” She quickly unbuckles her belt, and ignoring his warning growl of her name, climbs over the center console and slips into the front passenger seat. He glares at her and gestures for her to put the belt back on, but doesn’t comment. “Okay. We get ten questions each, and two veto’s.” She states, leaving no room for argument. “You can go first since I already had one.”

There’s a long pause, and for a second, she thinks he isn’t going to ask anything. Her heart starts to sink and a familiar pit of self-doubt forms in her stomach. But then he speaks and she feels almost giddy that he’s playing along.

“What’s your favorite animal?” He asks.

“Pandas. I absolutely love pandas. And sloths! Well really I love most animals… except kangaroos. Anything but kangaroos. They’re just evil. And unnatural. Did you know they travel in mobs and beat their rivals to death with their feet? How horrifying is that? Not to mention they’re huge and have like, human looking muscles on their chests…” She shudders. “Anything but kangaroos.”

It takes her a minute to realize that he’s staring at her, a look of complete surprise on his handsome face. It takes her another minute to realize what she just did.

She babbled. She can’t remember the last time it happened. She’s become so used to holding herself back from everyone, people she knows and people she doesn’t, that she can’t even remember the last time she _almost_ babbled.

But she feels comfortable with Oliver. And it’s not just the safety thing, it’s everything. She feels like maybe she can say something stupid and not have it be a huge deal. Or maybe she can screw up and do something she regrets, and he won’t hold it against her forever.

He’s smiling at her. It’s small, but it’s there. He looks amused and charmed, and… like he’s genuinely interested in what she has to say.

“Kangaroos, huh? It’s clowns for me.” He breaks the silence and she laughs. Genuinely laughs, not because someone expects her to, but because she feels like it.

“Oliver Jonas Queen, do you have coulrophobia?”

“If that means I’m scared shitless of anything with a painted face and colorful wig, then yes.” His eyes are sparkling, even as they remain fixed on the road ahead.

“Well then you probably shouldn’t meet my Uncle Teddy.” She informs him and then he's laughing too. He has a beautiful laugh, and she suddenly has the urge to hear it again and again, as many times as she can.

The questions continue in the same fashion, silly trivial things that shouldn’t matter, but somehow do. There’s a level of ease and familiarity in their interactions that’s foreign to Felicity. She’s not used to conversation flowing easily, to company feeling wanted instead of forced.

 

He becomes something of a confidante after that. How could he not, when he’s the only person in her life who takes the time to ask about her day? She thinks he probably pities her, and that’s why he humors her babbling and general wreck of a life. But honestly, she doesn’t care. He looks after her, and yes, it’s his job, but it’s more than that for her. It’s more than a precaution in reaction to threats made against her family, it’s more than someone to check that she makes it home at night. It’s someone who’s there when she turns around, someone who’ll catch her when she stumbles, someone who’ll listen when she speaks.

Sometimes she forgets that he gets paid for it. Sometimes she lets herself imagine that he’s there because he wants to be, because he really cares about her.

And sometimes, when he looks at her, she thinks that maybe, he forgets that it’s his job too.

 _Now I want to fly into your world_  
_I want to be heard_  
_My wounded wings still beating,_


	2. all you never say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A close call gives Felicity some perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! Trigger warning for a brief non-graphic depiction of an attempted assault. !!
> 
> The VIP room scene is 100% inspired by my own experiences of being a teenager in LA. Dodgy place to find yourself during those years!
> 
> Also, this whole story is kind of just moving really fast, and I am aware of that.. I don't know, I just want to get it written down and move on tbh. So I know that the transitions don't really work, but I wrote out various scenes that I wanted included in this fic, and now I don't really know how to stitch them together. So I'm just throwing them all in and not worrying about it! Lol sorry??
> 
> Chapter lyrics - all you never say by Birdy.

_You've been searching_  
_Have you found many things?_  
_Time for learning_  
_Why have I not learnt a thing?_

The professional tone of their relationship doesn’t last long. She nipped the Ms Smoak thing in the bud on his first day, and that was only the beginning of the boundaries being blurred. When they’re in the company of others, Oliver stands silently at a respectful distance, a watchful eye trained on his surroundings, looking every bit the perfect bodyguard. But then when they’re alone, they chat like friends, drink coffee and share stories. She likes those times the best. When it’s just them and no prying eyes. When she can let her guard down, and trust that no one will judge her. No one will exploit her. When he does the same, and drops his stoicism, smiles and lets his own walls drop .

She learns more about Oliver every day. He’s not a big talker, it always takes some coaxing, but he seems to enjoy sharing things with her. She can tell that it bothers him sometimes, how familiar they’ve become. It’s probably a misplaced loyalty to her father, or a desire to hold onto a shred of professionalism at his job. But either way she ignores it, and for the most part, so does he.

He tells her about his sister, a spitfire of a girl with far too much energy and eyes that can pin you where you stand. He tells her bits and pieces of his time in the war, leaving out the truly bad things. For both her sake and his. He answers all her questions, always looking amused at the ridiculous things she thinks to ask. It's silly really, how much stuff like that means to her. How much she likes to hear Oliver talk about everything and nothing, the sound of his voice filling the quiet rooms of the house until it doesn't feel quite so lonely.

Oliver fills a space in her life that she didn't even know was empty. And although he can't fix everything that's broken, every time he smiles at her or chuckles when she loses her train of thought, a little scar heals.

 

The first time he has to save her, it’s nothing to do with the reason he was hired.

There’s a club opening downtown, and of course she’s there, both because it’s expected, and because she doesn’t have much else to do. The VIP room is sleazy in a way those places always are. Rich men too old to still be wasting their nights in clubs leering at underage models who’ve had a few too many lines in the bathroom. It’s a scene she hates. But these days she doesn’t know much different.

She still remembers how shocked she was when, aged fifteen, she was ushered under velvet ropes and offered a drink she didn’t really want. Money and fame gets you lots of places, and for those who are too young to understand it, it often does more harm than good. That’s what happened to Felicity. However smart she was, she was too innocent to be shoved head first into the world she found herself in. Still finds herself in now. Although that innocence has chipped away as the years passed, she still feels out of her depth more often than not. Her name buying her way into places she doesn’t want to be. Her looks leading her into situations she doesn’t know how to handle.

She can feel Oliver’s eyes on her as she’s offered a drink, and in a sudden desire to make him proud, she turns it down.

The loud music and mindless conversation are harder to handle when she’s sober, but there’s something about Oliver that makes her want to be a better version of herself. So she sends a small smile his way, before she’s dragged away into the exclusive area where he’s not allowed to follow. The people surrounding her are famous and beautiful, but she can’t help but think that their company isn’t nearly as good as his. He’s been with her for just over two months, and she’s already grown all too accustomed to his ever-present shadow.

The night passes in a mess of dancing and name-dropping and Felicity’s reminded once again how out of place she is in her life. But that’s the whole problem really, she doesn’t know where she belongs, who she belongs to. She doesn’t really know who she is.

She shouldn’t have done it. But she sees a familiar face across the room, and knows that the sudden hollow feeling in her chest will go away with just one hit. For a second she hesitates, thoughts of Oliver’s disappointment almost turning her away. But she doesn’t belong to him either, and he doesn’t belong to her. He’s not a home, he’s not a purpose. He’s just a man who’s paid to spend time with her, and one day, he'll leave too.

It’s with that thought that her mind is set, and her feet are carrying her towards the very path she wants to be avoiding.

 

She’s not sure what happened. It could be hours later, or perhaps minutes. At some point time started to blur.

Mind foggy and absent, she’s aware of her dress sliding a little too far up her thigh as she sinks back into plush cushions. Lights swirl prettily before her eyes and it reminds her of Christmas when she was a little kid. Back when her parents did fun things with her, back when her smiles reached her eyes and her heart didn’t feel so empty.

There are too many hands. Some that definitely don’t belong to her, creeping too far under her dress. She wishes she were someone else. It’s her deepest secret, and her most regular fantasy. That she’s just a normal girl somewhere, with a name no one knows, and a life like any other. She’d do something good with it, _be_ someone good. She’d make a difference. She’d be happy.

Something’s not right. The chatter of people has dissipated, and through stinging contacts she notices that the room has emptied, leaving her alone with… Someone. There’s a hand on her neck, pushing her head back, lips creeping up her jaw. And suddenly she feels achingly young. Vulnerable and frightened and so out of her depth that she’s about to drown. She grew up too fast and she’s not ready for the world she’s in now. She’s too young, she wants to go back. She’s too young.

A tear trickles down her cheek and her eyes squeeze shut. She can’t move. She used to be so smart. The smartest girl in the room. But right then, she feels impossibly stupid.

When did she lie down?

The sound of someone crying fills her ears and it takes her far too long to realize that it’s her. She’s crying, and she’s scared, and she wants to go home. If only she knew where that was.

Time drifts some more, confusion mixing with fear, until she forgets how to think.

“Felicity!”

It takes one word and suddenly… It all melts away and she’s not afraid anymore. There are new hands on her now, but they’re warm and familiar and they’re on her face and she knows she’s safe.

“Look at me.”

She does, because it’s him asking and he’s the only one who cares. He’s the only one who listens. He’s the only one.

His bodyguard persona has slipped, and when her eyes meet his, she can see the fear that she no longer feels, etched across his beautiful features.

“Good girl. There you are. You’re okay.” His lips are moving and she can just make out the words, but it sounds like she’s underwater. Everything distorted and far away.

She tries to say his name, but it comes out jumbled and wrong on her lips.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” The ground tilts, and she has to close her eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness. “I’ve got you.”

His arms feel like an impenetrable shield around her, warm and strong. Her head falls to rest against his chest, breathing in the familiar smell that’s just him. He’s safety. He’s comfort.

Slowly the darkness edges in, but she doesn’t fear it, because Oliver’s there, and he’ll take care of her.

It should scare her, how certain she is of that. She grew up learning not to trust men. Her father was never a person she could count on, and any other men who came her way always had motives that were not in her best interests. But Oliver’s different.

It _does_ scare her, truth be told. Because she doesn’t want to rely on anyone, she doesn’t want to _need_ him. She wants to be the sort of girl who has her life sorted and doesn’t need to be saved. 

 

An incessant beeping and a horrible dryness in her mouth wakes her. Every muscle in her body aches, a deep pain settling heavy in her bones. But it’s her heart that hurts the most. Self-hatred and disgust creeping up her throat, choking, suffocating.

“Felicity?”

Her eyes blink open and settle on his face. He’s leaning over her, brows drawn together. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept.

“Oliver.” Of course he’s there. He’s always there. Even when she screws up and does stupid things, he still doesn’t leave. “Hospital?” The smell of disinfectant is burning her nose with every breath, and the lights are too bright against her eyes.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I had to bring you. You weren’t waking up and… I panicked.”

She takes a moment to look around the room, recognizing the Smoak family wing, a place she’s been more times than she cares to admit. There’s a bunch of flowers on the table beside the bed, expensive pink things that can only be from her mother, but otherwise the room is bare. There’s a blanket thrown over the chair in the corner, and she wonders if Oliver slept there while he waited for her to wake up. The thought warms her a little, no one’s ever bothered to stay with her while she slept before. Especially not at the cost of their own comfort.

“It’s okay. Thank you for taking care of me.” She finally answers and he brushes an errant strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Of course.” He clears his throat, and a guilty look crosses his face. “Do you remember what happened?”

She remembers lights and dancing and friends who aren’t really her friends. She remembers wishing this wasn’t her life. She remembers hands that don’t belong, and feeling too young for the world she lives in.

“It didn’t get far. The guy, calls himself the Count, he gave you Roofies instead of…” He trails off and she looks away, shame settling heavy on chest. Instead of what she’d asked for. That’s what he couldn’t say. “I got there in time. Nothing…” He pauses again before steeling himself. “Nothing invasive happened.”

She nods in understanding, but the sick feeling doesn’t go away.

What must he think of her? She’s been given all the opportunities that someone like him never has, and all she does is waste them. All she does is waste herself. She squeezes her eyes shut, and a hot tear slips down her cheek, her throat burning with pain and regret.

“Did you tell my parents?” It takes her a few tries to find her voice and when she does it sounds small and resigned.

“I had to.” Oliver says quietly.

“Are they here?” She doesn’t know why she bothers asking. The answer is obvious. But still, there’s a tiny little shred of her that hopes, that imagines that they are there. That they’re worried, that they’ll burst through the doors and say how much they love her. But they don’t. And Oliver’s reply hurts even though it was expected.

“No.”

Of course they’re not there. Why would they be? They didn’t care when she crashed her car on her seventeenth birthday, they didn’t care when she had her heart broken by a boy who only wanted her for her money. They don’t care. And it hurts.

“Your mom sent the flowers.” He nods towards the vase to her side, but she doesn’t bother to look at it.

Her mom used to be the person she could count on. She used to be there when she got scared and when she didn’t want to be alone. But then her father started coming home later and later, and his voice started getting louder and louder. And slowly that light that Donna had in her eyes faded, and the fight she had in her heart faded along with it. And with that, Felicity lost the last person she should ever have lost.

She turns onto her side, curling her legs up until her knees touch her chest. And with her face buried in a pillow that smells like bleach, she cries.

There was a time when she thought she’d be something more than this. More than what everyone expected her to become. A rich party girl with daddy issues and no dreams. There was a time she dreamed of going to MIT and finding her own way. She’d create a life for herself beyond Starling City, beyond her name and her legacy. Something worth remembering.

But the years piled up, and with every single one that passed, that dream grew further and further away. Her mom stopped talking and started drinking. Her dad changed from occasionally kind to often cruel. Her friends began to exploit her, and gradually she forgot all about the future she thought she’d have.

Scratchy cotton rubs against her skin, and a sob gets stuck in her throat. She doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t want to be this person. She wants to be better.

A hand slips through her hair, calloused fingers getting caught on the strands, and slowly her cries ease into hiccups. He’s talking to her, quiet murmurs that settle into her soul, comforting her in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Since before her mother forgot how to be a mother.

“It’s okay. Let it out, Felicity. You’re okay.”

She doesn’t know how he can stand to be around her. But he stays. Every time she shows him all the reasons he shouldn’t, he stays.

“Just breathe. There you go, good girl. I’m here.” He doesn’t stop stroking her hair, and slowly her eyes grow heavy once more. The tears dry on her cheeks, and her breathing slows.

His face dances through her mind as drifts to sleep. Oliver. He’s the only one there. The only one who cares enough to stay with her. The only one who can make her feel warm and safe. Oliver. Just Oliver.

 

Things change after that. They have to. That night is a wake up call. A look into a future she doesn’t want. She wants to be someone a person like Oliver could respect. She wants to be someone a ten-year-old Felicity could respect. She doesn’t want to wake up in any more hospital rooms, she doesn’t want the inevitability that one day she’ll wake up and there’ll be no one there at all.

So she flushes all the drugs she has, and deletes her dealer’s number from her phone. She avoids the club scene, stays home from parties and slowly starts remember who she used to be.

 

The look on Oliver’s face when he walks into the kitchen to find a microwave taken to pieces and spread across the table is priceless. It’s something she used to do when she was younger, take things apart to see how they worked, and then put them back together, learning all the circuits and wires. Of course she doesn’t need to take things apart to know how they work now, but it’s part of her self-imposed homework. Take the time every day to do something that used to make her happy.

He sits opposite her, watching with interest as she slowly starts to piece it back together. Her coffee grows cold beside her, and neither of them talk. She can feel his eyes on her as she works, curiosity and something she thinks might be pride dancing in his blue orbs.

“You could still do it, you know.” His voice breaks the silence and she looks up, raising her eyebrows in a silent question. “Go to college. Get a degree in doing this sort of stuff.” He nods his head towards the table and she smiles a little sadly.

“My dad wouldn’t let me. He doesn't think a degree in computer sciences would be appropriate.” She rolls her eyes, the familiar words tasting bitter on her tongue.

Oliver’s frowning and she sighs, giving him a melancholy shrug.

“It’s not the end of the world. I’ve hardly been a shining example of MIT material over the past couple of years. I doubt they’d take me anyway.”

“They’d take you. You’re so smart Felicity. You deserve to do something with those brains of yours.”

He’s looking at her with such sincerity, such admiration that she can’t tear her eyes away. She’s not used to people believing in her. Especially someone like Oliver, someone who’s truly lived, seen the world from every side, and come out the better for it.

Felicity knows she’s developing feelings for him that go beyond friendship. She’s tried to stop it, but sometimes she worries that it’s a snowball she won’t be able to keep in check. It’s in the way he looks at her, like he sees right through every wall she’s ever built, to the person she is underneath. It’s in the way he reaches for her when she trips, his large hand settling on the small of her back to steady her. It’s in the way he talks about his sister and friends with a warmth and love that’s non-existent in her family.

She’s never been a stupid girl, and she knows that a relationship with her bodyguard is never going to be an option. But it’s hard to remember that sometimes.

Especially when he looks at her like this, like she can do anything, _be_ anything. Like she could take over the world and it wouldn’t surprise him.

She smiles softly and forces herself to focus on the circuit board in front of her. Words getting stuck in her throat, choked with emotions she can't put into words. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

For all her fighting, her feelings for him continue to grow. And with them, so does her resolve. Her resolve to be better. To be _more_. To be the sort of person he might want to be with, one day, if they were different people with different lives.

It’s a common fantasy of hers. Them together with nothing in the way. No one to stand between them, no one to judge. Just them. They could get away from here, away from Starling City, away from all the expectations that are placed on her. They could get on a plane to somewhere beautiful and start over. She’d just be a normal girl, who loved an extraordinary man.

It’s an unattainable dream, of course. Because for all his kindness, she doubts Oliver’s feelings match her own. She doesn’t see why they would. What has she shown him, that he could grow to love? Her self-destruction, her childish angst, her feelings of displacement.

She hasn’t given him anything worth loving, just example after example of why no one should love her. Why no one does.

He has ten years on her, and a strength she’ll never possess. He’s handsome and brave and strong. Why would he ever look at someone like her? He could have anyone. A nice girl, with no drama and no pain. Just a beauty that matched his and feelings he returned.

But sometimes, just occasionally, she’ll catch him looking her way, and for a fleeting, glorious moment, she’ll think that maybe he feels it too.

She doesn't let herself linger on those thoughts for too long. They can't lead to anywhere good. So every time she feels that little bubble of longing settle in her chest, she pushes it down and focuses on the thing she _can_ control. Herself. Perhaps that's the greatest gift Oliver's presence has given her. The potential for a broken heart aside, he's given her a reason to pull herself up off the floor. To brush off her knees and lick her wounds, and consider who she really wants to be.

It's a matter of perspective really. He gave her a new set of eyes to see with, and she didn't like the way she looked through them.

By believing in her, he gives her the strength to believe in herself.

 

Oliver's hand is heavy on her waist as he guides her through a throng of photographers. She ducks her head, fingers curling into the sleeve of his jacket, heart thumping in her chest. She hates this. God she hates this. She was never good at being in the public eye, but _this_ , the invasion of privacy, the infringement on her personal space, this is the worst.

A couple of years ago, she had a panic attack in the street. She was by herself and suddenly she was surrounded, the sound of shutters clicking and voices shouting drowning out her thoughts. Photographs of her crying and running down the street, desperate to get away from strangers with cameras, had popped up on the internet the next day, leaving Felicity feeling violated and alone.

Now the fear is settled. A low thrum below the surface, something that's in the background, but can't touch her. She can feel the warmth of his hand through her shirt, and knows that she'll always be safe, with him on her side.

"Back up." His voice is harsh and she looks up to see the arm that isn't around her, thrown out in front of them, shoving the infringing crowds out of the way. She leans her head on his shoulder, pushing her body further against his, like maybe she can disappear into him if she just tries hard enough.

There are questions being thrown her way, but she doesn't register what's being said. Later she'll wish she had, but in that moment, all her focus is on Oliver. On his presence beside her, on his commanding words, and comforting touch.

She should have known that going to a Palmer Tech expose would bring unwanted attention, but she has a slight obsession with their latest line of tablets, and when the invitation had arrived, she'd actually been excited. For the most part, the things she gets invited to are so far out of her realm of interest that boredom doesn't even begin to describe it. This is something she cares about, something she understands.

Finally they're pushing through glass doors, and the building's security guards rush to help fend off the paparazzi. The sudden calm is jarring after the chaos of their short trip from the car, and it takes Felicity a minute to realize that she's still gripping Oliver's arm like it's the only thing tethering her to the ground. She lets go with a start, taking a wobbly step back and tucking a non-existent strand of hair behind her ear.

"Are you alright?" He asks gently.

She meets his eyes, his filled with concern and an edge of anger she thinks is probably directed at the men still hovering outside.

"I'm fine." She glances around, feeling the weight of strange eyes on her. "I just... I'm sick of this."

A glancing sadness passes across his face and he nods in understanding.

"I'm sorry." His hand jerks slightly, like he wants to reach for her, but thought better of it at the last minute.

"It's not your fault." She replies.

"I know." He shrugs, and she wishes more than ever that they had something more than this. That he didn't have to think twice about reaching for her, that she didn't have to bite her tongue to stop herself saying all the things she wants to say. "I'm still sorry."

There's a moment when it's just them, his eyes burning into hers, the bond that grew from nowhere almost tangible in the air. But seconds later they're interrupted, and Felicity's distracted by the a piece of technology so glorious it sets her heart a aflame almost as much as Oliver does.

She gets swept away with hands on her arms and chatter about investments her father's company just _has_ to make. She listens and nods, but every now and then, she'll glance back and catch Oliver's eye, and they'll share a smile that will quell every nerve she has. Knowing he's there, knowing his gaze won't leave her even when she turns away, makes her feel strong enough to handle anything. 

 

That new-found strength is put to the test a few days later, when she wakes up to her face splashed across the cover of a magazine, and everything she’s worked so hard to repair starts to fall back to pieces.

 

 _Are you uncertain?_  
_Or just scared to drop your guard?_  
_Have you been broken?_  
_Are you afraid to show your heart?_


End file.
